


A Consequence of Fate

by siennavie



Series: More Than Team 'Verse [5]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, I use the word plot loosely, Knotting, M/M, Multi, Omega Spike, Porn With Plot, True Mates, yes I went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/pseuds/siennavie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike is the first (and only) omega at the SRU. All of the Alphas of Team One treat him like an equal, but that doesn't mean there aren't a few old-fashioned bigots in the Barn. The new guy's plan to sabotage Spike has unforeseen consequences. Namely, he just helped the omega find his three Alpha mates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know what Alpha/Omega dynamics are, here are two primers:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/403644  
> http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega

"Hey. You're the SRU's pet omega, right?"

Spike pulls up short. 

There's no doubt that the male voice is addressing him. As the first (and only) omega selected for the elite task force, Spike is well-known within these halls. Consequently, there's only one person he could think of who would ask that question in the middle of the men's locker room.

Constable Brent Edwards: the newest addition to Team Five and, unsurprisingly, Alpha.

Spike turns stiffly towards the voice. Takes note of the empty benches and their lack of audience. So, the guy's a jerk but not an idiot. In a way, he's thankful his overprotective Alpha teammates aren't around; he doesn't need them coming to his defense.

Edwards is leaning on one shoulder against a row of lockers, naked except for a pair of black briefs. His pose is provocative, self-assured, and cocky, perfectly matched to the look on his face.

Spike meets the Alpha's green eyes, evenly. "Constable Michelangelo Scarlatti," he responds coolly, enunciating each syllable.

The corner of Edwards' lip twitches up. "Michelangelo. That's right."

Spike bristles at the condescending tone. 

"Constable"—the title is mimicked mockingly—"Brent Edwards. I hear you go by Spike."

"To my friends," he states, firmly.

Edwards quirks an eyebrow and smiles, but its empty and insincere. "It fits. You're a prickly one, aren't you?"

Spike smiles insincerely back, with teeth. "When the need arises." 

Edwards makes a vague noise. "Seems like a liability to me, you know…when you're handling something equally fickle and sensitive like a bomb."

Spike's restraint snaps at the thinly-veiled barb. "Look, _pal_. Unless you have extensive expertise and field experience in the disposal of active explosive devices, don't tell me what it takes to _do my job_."

The rookie isn't fazed by Spike's anger. Instead, he looks amused when he straightens up from his slouch, eyes appraising Spike from head-to-toe. "I've defused a few bombs in my time. But my specialties are entry and close quarters combat."—he winks—"Things I'm sure you could appreciate."

Spike huffs in disbelief. He stalks forward, closing the gap with Edwards, gets right in the Alpha's face and looks him dead in the eye. "Yeah, I can appreciate it," he says. "When they don't come attached to some unprofessional, chauvinistic, rookie knothead." 

Then he turns on his heel and exits the room. 

It probably wasn't a good move to pull on an Alpha, but Spike doesn't need to take this bullshit. He's earned his right to be here; has proven himself many times over that he has what it takes to hang with the big boys; stunned all his critics (which sadly included his parents) who never expected him to make the SRU, much less be picked by the top team.

Spike admits to being stunned as well. He never doubted his abilities but it was a cold, hard fact that due to his biology, he needed more than skill to ascend the ranks of the Alpha-dominated brotherhood. He pretty much needed luck, the last thing a tactics expect wants to rely on.

But then he met Team One: five Alphas who saw past his omega status, recognized his talents and, barring a few overprotective incidents, treated him as an equal every day both on and off the clock. 

Spike loves his team, whom he can gratefully call his friends and family now. 

He also loves his job. Even on days like these when some bigoted Alpha treats him like nothing more than a hole.

He burns off his anger at the gym, where his teammates' good natured bickering eventually gets him smiling for real.

*****

It's impossible for Spike to avoid Edwards completely. Fortunately, when they're on the job, the rookie is capable of keeping things civil and professional so that their work isn't compromised and no one, not even his perceptive teammates, notices the tension between them.

In private though, Edwards is less discreet. Spike ignores the Alpha's blatant ogling and suggestive gestures, doesn't react outwardly or let it disrupt his routine. And eventually, Edwards would turn back to his own task and Spike would go on with his day. 

Spike is fine with leaving it the way it is. He's dealt with worse. Besides, he learned at an early age that there's no point reporting it upstairs. In previous incidents, he had been told various forms of _you're too sensitive, it's just Alpha instinct_ , and _suck it up_. In short, the blame always rested with him.

It goes on like this for a few weeks.

Then Spike gets a commendation; his first at the SRU. After the ceremony, he receives claps on the back from peers and is exuberantly cheered by his teammates. Even Commander Holleran stops by their group to congratulate him personally. Basking in the glow with his friends and family, Spike doesn't notice green eyes watching darkly from a distance.

*****

"Hello, Timmy's!" Spike grabs the cup with his name sitting on the counter of Winnie's desk before waltzing into the briefing room with a happy grin. Greg always treated the team at the beginning of every week and today was no exception. His teammates are seated around the table, clutching their own cups possessively. He takes the chair on the far side between Ed and Wordy and sips at his brew as he waits for the briefing to begin.

Ten minutes and an almost empty cup later, Winnie marches in with a stack of folders in hand. "Sorry, Boss, the printer was on the fritz."

"No worries, Winnie," Greg says. "Thank you."

The frivolous chatter dies down immediately, and Spike sets aside his coffee to pull his folder close.

Greg begins walking them through the contents, a high-profile raid slated for later that morning in conjunction with Guns and Gangs.

While Spike is thumbing through the surveillance photos, he notices a fine tremor in his hands. It's unusual for him, but not exactly alarming. He attributes it to the caffeine and dismisses it.

The restlessness begins as they're reviewing the building blueprint plans. It feels warmer than usual in the room. But when he checks the thermostat, the blue interface reads a cool 68 degrees. Around the table, no one else appears bothered, so he adjusts his collar, rolls up his sleeves, and focuses back on the plans. 

By the time they're discussing the tactical assault strategy though, that focus is shot. His heart is pounding and there's a prickling sensation under his skin that he just can't ignore, like a low current of electricity running loops in his body. It's taking all of his concentration to simply sit still in his seat. 

He must not have been hiding his discomfort well, though, because Wordy nudges him and asks quietly, "You okay?"

His arm burns and tingles, not exactly unpleasantly, where Wordy had touched him. Spike swallows and replies, "Yeah."

He makes a show of looking at the pages in front of him to avoid his friend's searching eyes. However, the words won't come into focus. He blinks, stares harder, but the text only gets fuzzier. He squeezes his eyes shut when dizziness threatens. 

When he reopens them, it's to find five matching looks of concern pointed his way. 

"Spike, are you feeling okay?" Greg asks, gently.

The word "fine" immediately jumps to his lips, but that's obviously a lie. He feels overly sensitive, overly warm, light-headed and off-balance.

Ed says, "Spike," and Spike turns to see the Team Leader leaning in close and sniffing at him. Then the Alpha suddenly backs away, looking uncharacteristically shaken and troubled. "When was your last heat?" 

And Spike's jaw drops open in shock at his friend's bluntness, because that wasn't the type of question you could politely ask any omega. 

Yet, now that the Alpha has mentioned it, Spike's brain begins clicking and snapping puzzle pieces into place. Some of his symptoms are indeed similar to the manifestation of omega arousal in heat. Except, these symptoms are more intense than that, are beyond normal parameters. And besides…

"It can't be," Spike blurts. "I just had my heat two weeks ago."

But that's when he notices it: Beneath the rich scents of five Alphas and the smoky traces of coffee, there's a faint but undeniably sweet—and altogether familiar—smell in the air.

Spike's jaw drops open in shock. The rest of his team are looking at him with wide eyes, too, and Spike feels like a specimen under five sets of eyes and noses.

He's never been off cycle. He takes his heat control medication religiously so he can plan for his heats, besides wearing scent blockers daily so he won't attract undue attention in the field. Both are requirements of his job. 

"Boss? Boss, I know—I _know_ —I haven't missed a dose. This doesn't make sense. I don't know if, if it's something, it has to be something—" He knows he's rambling, but he can't stop himself. If this got out, he would be the laughingstock of the SRU. Most people were already inclined to see him as too hormonal, too emotional, too fragile to do the job. He's earned some grudging respect over time, but this could undo so much of his progress. Worse still, he could be dismissed. There were a number of people who would happily see him gone, who would latch onto this this as proof that omegas didn't belong in the field.

Over his panicked rambling, he finally registers Greg calling his name: "Spike. Spike. _Spike_. It's okay. It's okay." 

He stumbles to a stop.

Greg's eyes are kind and sympathetic. "It's okay, Spike. Really. But you need to get out of here now. Go see a doctor if you have to, find out what happened. Take care of yourself. Got it?"

Spike nods numbly. The team echoes Greg's well wishes as he, reluctantly, stands up to leave. But Spike can't help the feeling that he's let his team down today.


	2. Chapter 2

Once Spike is out of earshot, Greg turns to the only mated Alpha in the room and says, "Wordy, make sure he has his privacy in the lockers and gets to his car okay. Just…"

"Be sneaky about it?" the veteran officer completes for him.

Greg nods. While he's doing this out of concern, their fiercely independent omega would see it as hovering.

A few minutes later, he's thankful for his prudence when Wordy comes running back and says in a rush: "Guys, something's wrong with Spike." 

They all spring from their seats, right on Wordy's heels to the men's locker room as he brings them up to speed. "Winnie's calling paramedics. I heard a crash, went in and he was laid out flat. I tried to help him, but he seemed to be in pain anywhere I touched him."

They pour as one into the locker room, and Greg is immediately stunned to a halt by the blast of pheromones. 

His brain shuts down, focused only on one word: _Omega_.

And the next instant: _Mate…Mate!_ at a deafening decibel in his head. 

His body jolts alive as if touching live wires, electric current zipping across his skin. Heart racing, breath haggard, and muscles twitching excitedly as arousal flares and rages like wildfire through his veins. His mate smells like sweet, ripe fruit—intoxicating, enthralling, and utterly irresistible. He needs to taste, to take, to make claim as his—

But there's resistance. He shoves, growls _Mine!_ , storms through. Again, he's obstructed. He snarls and lunges forward. Meets a solid wall. He slashes, claws, kicks and twists, beats down on the invisible chains grappling him. Taking him away— _away!_ His _Mate!_ growing farther…fading. _NoNoNo!_

There's a loud slam. 

And then that scent—his _Mate!_ —is gone. 

It's like his heart has been viciously yanked out of his chest and all air sucked from his lungs. He collapses to the floor, like a puppet cut of strings, and drops his head to his hands…

Greg doesn't know how much time passes before shapes and colors begin coalescing once again, painfully sharp and bright in his vision; before he realizes he's sitting on the floor of one of the SRU conference rooms, rocking back and forth on his knees; shaking and trembling uncontrollably. 

"Boss?" 

That's Wordy's voice.

He glances up, finds his friend kneeling beside him and wearing the deepest frown Greg has ever seen on the man. There's a bruise blooming on Wordy's jaw, scratches on his cheek. 

"What happened?" he asks, tremulously.

Wordy speaks softly, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal. "Everything's okay. Every _one_ 's okay," he reassures. "You just had an episode of Alpha-lust."

"Alpha-lust?" Greg echoes dazedly. 

"Yeah. Though, honestly, I've never seen anything like it. You guys were completely out of it. Kinda…rabid actually. It was really intense and a bit scary."

Greg stares disbelievingly at Wordy. Alpha-lust. It was the Alpha version of heat when exposed to the pheromones of their true mate. But after forty-plus years and nothing even close to that instant, intense magnetic pull described in textbooks, Greg had resigned himself to being part of the "unmatched" twenty percent. _Fate has a way of working it out, my dear_ , his mother had tried to assure him. But with every passing year, it seemed more unlikely that he would find The One…

Then Greg blinks. "Wait,"—their conversation replays in his mind—"Did you say, _'you guys'_?"

"Yeah." Wordy looks awed. "You, Ed, and Sam. Fortunately, some guys from Team Five were nearby to help us isolate them."

Greg drops his forehead back in his hands. This was a lot to take in. Not only did he just find his true mate, he's discovered he has two Alpha-mates as well. He thinks he should be happy, excited, _goddamned thrilled_. But right now he only feels embarrassed, confused, and overwhelmed. He sighs. "What do we do now?"

"Jules and I will figure something out. Just…stay here. Don't leave this room."

Greg nods and watches his teammate go.

*****

An hour later, Greg finds himself in the passenger seat of Wordy's car. Ed is sitting solemnly in the backseat with Sam, who's staring sullenly out the window. There's been nothing but silence since they left the SRU.

Greg thinks they're a pretty gloomy group considering that had just found their Match. 

Then again, this wasn't a typical Alpha-meets-omega tale. Having another Alpha in the equation was nearly unheard of, simply because Alphas were aggressively territorial. So three Alphas sharing an omega? Sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Greg laughs under his breath and Wordy gives him a sidelong look. "What's on your mind?" his friend asks.

In the rear-view mirror, he sees that he's gotten his mates' attention, too.

Twisting in his seat so he could look the other Alphas in the eyes, he puts on a grave face and explains, "We're on the way to see our mate…yet we look like we're headed to a funeral."

Ed and Sam simply blink back at him. 

Then a slow chuckle comes from the driver's seat. "He's right," Wordy says. "This has got be the least enthusiastic Match I've ever seen. Have you looked at your reflections?"

From the backseat, Sam snorts and counters with, "Have you ever seen a Match like this before?"

Wordy huffs and shakes his head. "Guess there's nothing normal about this, is there?"

Ed gives Greg a wan smile and drops his head back against the seat. "No, nothing at all." Then his gaze drifts somewhere far away.

Greg imagines Ed is just as shocked by his sudden change in status, from unmated to mated times three. They're the same age after all and had both believed themselves unmatched, destined to be alone, after their attempts at force-bonding with similarly-unmatched women had been unsuccessful. Maybe that's why, even though they were extremely close friends, the idea of trying to pair-bond with Ed had never crossed his mind.

With Sam, there had been no reason to ever think about bonding. The former soldier was ten years his junior and had still been optimistic about finding his true mate. Although, from his view of the younger Alpha in the side view mirror, Sam looks anything but happy right now. Instead, he looks nervous and worried above all else. It hurts Greg to see the younger Alpha this way. They don't have years of history like he does with Ed, but his affection and empathy for Sam run just as deep. He wants to tell Sam that it'll be okay…but he hasn't even convinced himself of that yet.

The rest of their journey continues in silence. They stop briefly at his apartment, and then Sam's, to pack overnight bags. Ed's townhome would be the last stop. Jules and Wordy had determined it the best place for the four of them to hole up for the next few days, due to the fact that Ed had two bedrooms and enough sleeping quarters for them all.

When their final destination comes into view, Greg's heart starts thumping faster.

Memories of his Alpha-lust episode come back to mind. If Spike was in that house right now, was there really a guarantee it wouldn't happen again? 

His first experience had been deeply unsettling to say the least. Even in his previous drunken rages, he had never lost control so completely as to harm another human being. Wordy's face was testament to his single-minded pursuit this morning. Greg doesn't want to think about what he could have done to Spike, and potentially his other mates if he hadn't been stopped.

The paramedics had echoed Wordy, saying that an Alpha-lust episode of that magnitude was practically unheard of. The conclusion had been that Spike's intense episode had fueled theirs. The medics had been tight-lipped about Spike's condition after that, saying that Officer Callahan had asked to inform them herself.

Jules waves at them from the front door as they pull up at the curb. Knowing that his officers would never allow the omega to come to harm, Greg tamps down his fears and follows everyone out of the car.

"How's Spike?" are the first words out of their collective mouths when they reach the top of the steps.

"He's doing fine and resting now. But let's go inside and talk. There's something you need to know," Jules says, mysteriously, as she leads the way inside.

Greg steps tentatively across the threshold before sniffing experimentally. The omega's scent permeates the air, but it's muted. Makes his body hum happily instead of feeding him into a frenzy. He breathes normally, and when nothing further happens, feels the tension in his shoulder slowly drain away. His mates look similarly relieved beside him.

Jules' notes their reactions and points to a few sticks of incense burning around the downstairs floor. "Scent neutralizers. Thought they might help you keep a clear head while we talk."

Greg is grateful for the female Alpha's foresight.

Once they're seated in the living room, Ed—never one to beat around the bush—asks the question that's been plaguing them all morning: "So what's wrong with Spike?" 

Greg wasn't expecting good news, but he's still caught off guard by Jules' response: "Spike received an overdose of OHA."

Greg's brows furrow. "The heat inducer?"

Jules nods and Greg sits, stunned, while Ed and Sam spring to the edges of their seats with exclamations of outrage and surprise.

"It was determined," she continues, "that he had ingested a large quantity recently because of his severe reaction. Since we know that Spike wouldn't have taken the drug himself, especially on a work day, we managed to trace it back to his cup of coffee."

All eyes turn as one to Greg, not accusing, but seeking answers. 

Greg looks back at them, wide-eyed. "I-I don't know how," he stutters out, upset by the thought that he had provided the vessel for delivery. "Those cups were never out of my sight until I brought them to Winnie's desk."

"So whoever did this was someone who was at the SRU," Ed's voice is sharp, dangerous.

"Or, I hate to suggest it, but someone working at the SRU. It could have been one of our own." Jules' words hang in the air.

"Do we have any idea who would do this to him? And why?" Sam asks.

"Based on the timing, career sabotage makes the most sense," Wordy replies. "With the right dosage, the onset of his heat would have been slow and progressive."

"In time for the bust with Guns and Gangs," Greg deduces. 

Wordy nods. "Spike isn't exactly short of detractors. He gave us a few names to look into, and Winnie's pulling visitor logs and security feeds. Jules and I will head back to HQ to review them. We'll check out the coffee shop as well, cover all the bases. The Commander is aware of the situation. He's backing up our investigation, and he's put out a gag order to quell the rumor mill as much as possible."

"We'll find this person one way or another," Jules says, fiercely. 

"What can we do to help?" Sam's jaw is set with determination.

Jules looks sympathetic when she says, "The best thing you can do is just be with each other. Intimacy and proximity are crucial in the first stages of the bond." 

"And the way we tore you apart earlier..." Wordy muses.

"Probably didn't do you any favors," finishes Jules. "The paramedics gave Spike a hormone inhibitor to regulate the drug's effects and bring his heat down to normal levels. It's going to take longer to run its course, maybe four to five days instead of three, but it shouldn't be painful anymore." 

Then a twinkle enters her eyes and a smile graces her face. "So, seriously, guys? Try to enjoy yourselves. You found your Mate! Or, _Mates_ , I should say. The four of you. How incredible is that? I'm so happy for you!" She stands up then and comes over to envelop them each in a hug.

Her genuine joy and excitement is contagious, and soon they're all smiling with her, even Sam.

Wordy smirks as he clasps their forearms and tells them to enjoy the honeymoon.

Greg's certain his face is just as pink as his mates.


	3. Chapter 3

After sending off their teammates, Sam feels the joy fading as nerves creep in. He's alone now with his mates, and he doesn't know what to do. 

Ed and Greg seem equally as lost, judging by the way they haven't moved from the door, looking anywhere but where he knows they actually want to. Sam thinks it's a funny picture for three typically assertive Alphas.

After a few more seconds of awkward silence, he decides to venture forth. "Should we, maybe, y'know, go check on Spike?" _Smooth, Braddock, real smooth._

Alright, so he might be a bit nervous himself to go past the safety of the scent neutralizers. Could you blame him? The last time he encountered the omega's pheromones, he went batshit crazy. But the desire to check on his mate is reaching overwhelming proportions.

The look shared between the two other men suggest similar conflicted feelings.

"What if I go first?" he suggests. "I'll take it slow and you guys can extract me at the first sign of trouble."

Ed shakes his head. "Nope. If you go down, it's most likely we will too."

Greg puts up a hand to stop them. "Look, the medic said that our reactions were abnormal. That the intensity of our episode appeared to be directly proportional to Spike's. So if Spike is at regular parameters now, then we should be too."

The logic makes sense. 

"Besides," the Sergeant continues, "Jules and Wordy wouldn't have left us here if they thought Spike was in any danger."

It's a convincing argument and assuages Sam's biggest fear. "Okay. Should we go for it then?"

After a beat, Greg turns away, walks over to an incense holder, picks it up, and walks back.

" _Now_ let's go," the Boss says.

The trek up the stairs isn't as bad as Sam expected. At the closed door to the master bedroom, however, Sam can definitely feel the omega's pheromones wreaking greater havoc on his senses. When they open the door a crack, a perfumed wave washes over him, wafts up his nostrils, and Sam's senses immediately kick into overdrive. While it's still a struggle not to rush in and take the omega, the good news is that it's a struggle. And one that Sam actually wins. At least, temporarily. He's not certain how long he can hold out. Spike smells so good and his Alpha just wants to claim his rightful mate, right now.

A hand on his shoulder helps ground him. He looks into Greg's sympathetic eyes and Ed's questioning ones and nods to show he's in control. The older Alphas appear to be struggling less than him. That, or they have a better poker face. They open the door all the way, but purposefully stay outside.

Even with the inhibitor working its magic, the air in the room is still heavily fragrant with pheromones. And once Sam sees Spike, he digs his nails into Greg's arm, trying to maintain his composure. 

Spike always had an air of innocence around him, even when he was in full tac gear and wielding an MP5. How that was possible was an enigma to Sam. That duality was one of the reasons why Sam had gravitated closer. And over time, that platonic curiosity had grown into something more. Spike's ability to see the silver lining, embodied in the laugh lines around his eyes and deeply dimpled cheeks, made the omega a rare creature that the Alpha instinctually felt the need to protect. Those feelings are even stronger now as he watches Spike sleeping. The omega is curled up on one side, facing them, looking completely at peace. 

Content with their findings, they decide to retreat. But as Greg is reaching for the doorknob, the omega stirs, long limbs stretching out beneath the thin sheets. They freeze as one, pinned by Spike's now open eyes. Spike blinks at them owlishly for a moment and then raises his head. He looks ready to say something until a harsh cough rocks him. Sam rushes forward without thinking, helps Spike to a sitting position and brings the cup of water at the bedside to his lips. Spike drinks greedily. Up close, Sam can see a fine sheen of sweat on the omega's forehead. Those dark, brown eyes are brighter too, as if with fever. And when those eyes meet his, filled with gratitude and something else, Sam notices that they're heavily dilated, pupils nearly swallowing the iris whole.

Sam looks away and digs his fingernails into his palms. He's embarrassed to see his cock is a clear outline in his jeans. He should get away from the still vulnerable omega, but he can't make himself move.

Then a hand settles warm and heavy on his right thigh. 

"Spike. Please…" _Don't_ , he wants to say, but can't get it past his lips.

Spike's hand just inches up higher, brushes up against the side of his cock, and a voice murmurs, husky and seductive in his ear, "I want this, too, Sam," and the remains of his flimsy self-control collapses like a house of cards. 

He spins in his seat and drives Spike back down to the mattress.

A loud slam reverberates around the room, but Sam doesn't spare any thought for it. Not when Spike is writhing beneath him, making high, needy noises as he kisses every inch of skin he can reach. He quickly divests Spike of his shirt and shorts, takes a record-breaking three seconds to strip himself, and then buries his nose in the omega's groin, inhaling the sweet scent unencumbered.

He can't wait any longer. He flips Spike over onto his stomach, slides one leg between the omega's parted thighs, rubs slick from the omega's leaking hole onto his aching cock, and slides _home_ in one even thrust. Spike makes a wild noise, and Sam responds in kind. He's lost to blind rhythm, _matematemate_ chanting in his head. He fucks until he feels something catching at Spike's rim. 

When he looks down at his burgeoning knot, his first ever, he has one moment of lucidity to think _holy shit, it's happening_ before Spike squeezes around it—the sensation like nothing he's felt before—and chases all lucid thought from his mind. When there's too much resistance, he instinctively pushes in as far as he can go and rolls his hips instead. Spike whines, high in his throat, as Sam's knot swells to full size; he lavishes kisses across the omega's shoulders in comfort. The moment when their bodies lock together is indescribable---the intense pressure, the heat, the intimacy—

And then Spike shouts and seizes around him. 

Sam bites down hard on the muscle of his mate's shoulder as his orgasm overwhelms him, wave after wave that seems never-ending when he can feel every twitch of Spike's ass milking him dry. He gets a shiver from head-to-toe as something electric ripples under the surface of his skin. It's the bond. He knows it. Can feel it.

When the pounding of his heart finally calms down, enough so that he can hear his mate whimpering beneath him, he gently releases Spike from the clutch of his mouth; a fiery red mark remains behind. He nuzzles at his claim of possession, mouths "Mate" into the bruised skin, and feels euphoric when his mate murmurs it back.


	4. Chapter 4

The moment that Ed realizes what's about to happen in his bedroom, he slams the door shut and hustles downstairs, desperate to get away from the onslaught of hormones, both Spike's and Sam's. Greg must have been right on his heels because when he turns around at the bottom, his friend barrels right into him. They land in a heap on the floor and before Ed can comprehend it, they're tearing at each other's clothes and going at it like they're 15 years old and losing their virginity all over again. It's embarrassingly short how long they last. 

Ed buries his face in Greg's shoulder, pretty sure he's flaming red to the top of his head. Beneath him, Greg's chest starts heaving with laughter, and pretty soon Ed's joining in too.

Eventually, Greg pushes at him and says, "Get off me, you oaf."

"Says the guy who gets his ass dragged around in rescue drills," Ed retorts, but he rolls off quickly with a smile.

He stuffs himself back inside his pants—no need to give the neighbors a show—and buttons up. Sitting up, he grimaces; it feels like there's glue in his shorts.

Greg is still flat on his back beside him, looking up longingly at the ceiling: "Think it's safe to go back upstairs for a shower?"

Ed sighs. "Let's not risk it."

*****

Ed manages twenty minutes before he decides a shower is indeed worth the risk. They take each step slowly, listening for sounds to clue them in, but it's quiet. The scent in the halls is strong but bearable, since they got the door closed from the start. They make it to the guest bathroom without incident.

Under a relaxing, hot spray, they spend time getting to know each other's bodies, more leisurely than their first and last frantic encounter on the cold, hard floor. The water is nearly cold by the time they untangle their limbs from each other and step out of the stall.

Ed dries off, wraps the towel around his hips, steps out into the guest bedroom…and swears.

His clothes are in his bedroom. The master bedroom with Spike and Sam.

Greg glances up from rummaging in his own duffel bag and raises an eyebrow in question.

"My clothes…" He doesn't need to finish. Greg tosses him a clean t-shirt and sweat pants from his collection. Ed catches them and feels something warm and fuzzy bloom in his chest.

*****

Back downstairs, Ed wanders the kitchen, taking note of the items in his fridge and pantry. There isn't much, definitely not enough to feed four full-grown men for five days, but there's enough to get them through a day or two.

They've just finished making lunch when Sam finally makes an appearance, most likely following the aroma of food. The kid could eat five pounds and not show a single one. The missing member of their Alpha trio is wearing one hell of a grin on his face as he practically skips into the kitchen.

Ed chuckles at his mate's exceptional cheerfulness even as he feels jealousy stir in his gut. "That good, huh?" 

Sam plops down in a chair, leans back with his hands clasped behind his head and continues smiling like a loon. "I don't know what you two are waiting for. I would be hauling ass up there right now. I think Spike's ready for round two."

"It might be good for him to have some food first. Keep the energy up and all that," Greg says, thoughtful as usual. 

"Well, then one of you should bring it to him," Sam counters.

"Maybe you should do it, since you've made your claim already. That way Spike might actually get to eat," Greg replies, wisely.

Ed admires, and maybe loathes just a little bit, how Greg could be so thoughtful and selfless, while all he wants to do is beat a path upstairs. That first round with Greg had helped take off some of the edge, but while the Alpha-mate bond was strong, it didn't compare to the bond between an Alpha and an omega.

Perhaps Sam senses his interest and eagerness, because he throws Ed a knowing smirk and says, "Nah. Ed should go. I'm sure he can handle it."

Ed doesn't object to the suggestion. He locks eyes with Greg, not exactly asking for permission, but making sure the other Alpha would be okay with it.

When Greg smiles lopsidedly and concedes defeat to his mates with a shake of his head, Ed springs to his feet, grabs a full plate and calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room, "Don't worry. I've got this."

Greg's laugh rings out. "I'm sure you do."

*****

Ed is prepared for the thick haze of pheromones this time. While he manages to contain his primal urges, it's impossible for him to hide his physical excitement. He's very aware of his hard-on lewdly tenting his sweats as he crosses the room.

Spike is sitting naked among a swirl of mussed-up sheets; the length of fabric draped over his groin does little to conceal his matching erection. Upon seeing Ed, his face lights up with a smile. 

Ed sets the plate down on the nightstand. "Thought you could use something to eat," he says, then grimaces at how lame that sounds.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Spike says, kindly, but he doesn't move to take the plate. Instead, his eyes dart to the shirt that reads I'M THE BOSS, and he barks a laugh. Then Spike is climbing up to his knees and leaning into Ed's space, the sheets falling away to reveal a tantalizing expanse of pale skin. The omega's nose brushes his collarbone. "I can smell him on you," Spike murmurs. "It's really hot."

Then a hand wraps around his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. Spike opens his mouth and Ed accepts the invitation. He licks in, and the first taste of his mate is like ambrosia, an explosion of sweetness on his tongue. He savors it, pulls the omega flush with his body, and chases it. Plunders the omega's mouth until his lips feel bruised. But it's not enough.

He grips Spike tight with one hand as he fondles the soft curves of the omega's ass with the other before dipping a finger into the valley between. 

His finger is soaked immediately.

He breaks the kiss, and Spike looks adorably dazed and confused until he brings the slick finger up to his lips and sucks it clean. Spike makes a small noise before grabbing Ed's face with both hands and thrusting his tongue into the Alpha's mouth, seeking out his own taste. 

Ed growls at the omega's boldness. He pushes Spike off, twists him around by the hips and shoves him forward. The omega lands on hands and knees, ass presented to his Alpha. Ed feels a thrill of satisfaction when Spike stays in position obediently as he undresses.

He climbs up behind Spike and wets his cock with the copious slick between the omega's cheeks, moaning as his mate's scent mixes with his. It's heady and exhilarating and he surges forward, deep into Spike's body, eager to stake his claim. Make his scent a part of Spike forever. 

When he feels and sees the beginning of a bulge at the base of his dick, he presses in all the way, plants a hand between Spike's shoulders until the omega drops them to the bed and arches his back in the most beautiful posture of submission. 

That's when he spies it - the red, angry mark on Spike's shoulder, shaped like teeth. _Sam._

Ed growls and fucks in harder with short, sharp thrusts, pulling Spike back with a bruising grip to meet each one. 

He latches his mouth onto a clear stretch of skin and when Spike's ass locks like a vise around him, ripping his orgasm out of him, he clamps down, leaving his own imprint as he empties himself into his mate.

Beneath him, Spike cries out and trembles from his own release.

He pants into Spike's shoulder as his hips jerk helplessly, shivers as a tingle runs up and down his spine. When the aftershocks subside, Ed grabs hold of the shaking omega and tips them onto their side. 

He pulls his mate as close as possible, licks and nibble at one ear. 

"You were incredible," he breathes. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, that was—mm—perfect." He can hear the smile in Spike's slurred voice. "You're sexy all worked up."

"Are you saying I wasn't sexy before?" Ed growls.

Spike chuckles. "Correction. Even sexi _er_." 

"Damn straight."


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting across the kitchen table from Sam, Greg finds his appetite has deserted him; in its place are butterflies. 

Sam looks distracted as well, eyes downcast and fingers stiffly picking at the woven placemat in front of his seat. His earlier joviality is gone.

Once Ed had vanished upstairs and Greg's laughter had died, a loaded silence had filled the room—and with it, the light but distinctive scents of two Alphas in mating heats. Greg didn't deserve to call himself a negotiator if he couldn't sense the tension now strung out between them. 

After trying and failing to catch the younger man's eyes, Greg calls out, "Sam."

Blue eyes finally meet his; they seem troubled.

Greg tests out a theory. "We don't have to do anything you don't want. Not now. Not ever."

Pink tints the younger man's cheeks and those eyes dart away again. "That's, um, not the problem, sir. Actually, I was going to say that to you. If you don't want me—"

He cuts off his mate, genuinely puzzled by Sam's assumption. "Why would you think that?"

"It's just—with you and Ed, you've been together for so long. It makes sense, you know? I'm like the third wheel…"

In a way, that's true. He and Ed had years of history, had spent many a day off, many outings, together. He can't think of a single time he's been alone with Sam, outside of work and simply for leisure. They simply hadn't reached that point in their relationship yet. 

Greg knows now that it was bound to happen. The mating instinct was never wrong. A fact, however, that doesn't make a Match feel like any less of a curveball. Especially when you suddenly found yourself bound to an omega and _two_ older Alpha mates.

The younger Alpha's admission and uncharacteristic bashfulness makes Greg's protective instinct flare. He keeps his voice light and unworried when he counters with, "Technically, Spike makes four. Four wheels. So I'd say we're actually a perfectly balanced machine."

His attempt at levity is rewarded with Sam's low chuckle. Before the silence could return, before Sam's small smile could completely fade, he says, "Sam. Come here." 

Sam hesitates a second, but then obeys.

Greg pushes his chair back, grabs Sam's arm, and pulls his mate onto his lap. Sam gives him a puzzled look.

"If anyone should have doubts," Greg begins, "it should be me. I don't know how this son of a gun got lucky three times."

Sam huffs and smiles genuinely. "Same here."

Greg reaches up, catches Sam's chin with one hand—says, "Let's give this a try, shall we?"—and closes the distance between their mouths. The kiss itself is chaste, just a simple press of lips. Sam's lips are dry, but soft and receptive. That brief contact shouldn't have done anything. But it does. He feels something stirring in his blood, zinging through his heart and charring its name into his bones. _Mate._

After they separate, Sam looks at him with something akin to awe. Greg's pretty sure he looks the same.

The air is saturated with their mingling pheromones now, a different kind of tension stretched between them. 

Greg's erection is straining up against the younger man's ass. Sam holds his gaze as he grinds down, purposefully. 

Greg moans. 

And in one quick, flawless move, Sam is straddling him, eager fingers yanking open the buttons of his pants and pulling out his fattened cock. Greg tries to return the favor, but the younger man bats his hands away, stands up and quickly shimmies out of his own clothes before seating his naked ass back on Greg's legs. Sam licks his palm and takes both of their cocks in his fists, one gripping the base and the other stripping them vigorously, expertly, with a sharp twist at the tip that makes Greg pant for more. Greg hangs on to Sam's narrow hips, licks whenever Sam brings a palm to his mouth, groans as he feels the pleasure building, and shouts when Sam finally wrings a powerful orgasm from him that makes his toes curl and his eyes roll back in his head. 

Sam cries out simultaneously but his hands never stop working, seemingly determined to wring every drop from their cocks.

Eventually, Greg has to say, "Oh fuck, Sam. Stop. I'm too sensitive."

Sam stills immediately, although it takes a few seconds longer for his hands to let go. The younger Alpha is panting harshly, almost painfully, and looks completely dazed when he meets Greg's gaze, blue eyes glassy and bright. Then he sways, and Greg's hands fly up instantly to steady him. 

He cradles Sam to his chest, not caring when sticky-wet hands clutch at his shirt. "The Lust really hits you hard, doesn't it?" he murmurs into blonde hair.

Sam's nod is barely perceptible.

"Come on. Let's find someplace more comfortable to rest."

*****

Greg is stretched out on the couch, watching a hockey game rerun on mute, when Ed finally returns downstairs.

Sharp blue eyes quickly catalog the blonde man sleeping in the circle of Greg's arms, their half-dressed state and the dried stains on their shirts and shorts. Ed smiles facetiously, and Greg wishes he had a spare pillow to sling at his friend.

After Ed takes a seat in the nearby armchair, Greg can't help but ask: "So…how was it?"

Ed's face is soft in a way he's never seen before when the other Alpha looks up and their eyes meet.

"Unbelievable," the man says, simply. But Greg can feel all the emotions behind that one word.

"Pretty unreal, huh?"

Ed just nods.

*****

When Sam awakens shortly thereafter, Greg urges him upstairs to get a change of clothes.

Digging through his duffel, Greg thinks that he's going to run out of wardrobe soon if their hormones carry on at this rate. He sneaks glances at Sam as they undress on opposite sides of the bed. When Sam shoots him a knowing smirk, then drops his shorts to unabashedly display his semi, it takes monumental effort not to yank the impudent Alpha by the neck across the bed and remind him who's top dog around here. He files the thought away for another time and gives his mate a look that promises payback.

Downstairs, Ed has their belated lunch set out for them. They all dig in heartily, and conversation flows easily. Sam seems relaxed now, flirtatious even, and Greg spies Ed giving the blonde a heated glance or two from under his lashes. Greg laughs internally, knowing their younger mate was literally screwed, winding up the dominating Alpha like that.

As they're cleaning up in companionable silence, a distinctive sweet smell carries through the air, giving them a few seconds warning before the omega appears at the entrance to the kitchen. Spike is past the wall of neutralizers now, and the thin boxers and tee do little to buffer his heat scent.

He hears Sam's breathing pick up, while Ed tenses beside him. From their directions, he can smell an answering release of pheromones.

Spike keeps his distance—for their sake or his own, Greg doesn't know. The omega looks uncertain to be there, rubbing the back of his head with one hand, nervously.

"Is everything okay?" Ed immediately asks.

"Do you need something?" Sam chimes in, concern in his voice.

"I'm fine," Spike assures them quickly. Then he pins Greg with a shy gaze and a small smile. "I was just looking for you. I thought I would have seen you by now…" 

His voice crawls to a stop. And suddenly the smile disappears, replaced by a confused frown. 

"Something's not right," the omega states. 

And in the next second, Greg finds himself with an armful of omega; Spike is pressed up against his front, hands fisted in his shirt and nose digging into his neck. 

Then Spike stumbles backwards, eyes wide. "Something's not right," he repeats.

And it's obvious to Greg now that there really is a problem. With his mate that close, scent unchecked, he should be overwhelmed with the urge to claim right now. But he doesn't feel anything stronger than a pleasant brush across his senses. 

He inhales deeply. 

Nothing changes.

"I don't feel it." Spike says, flatly. "I don't feel _our bond_."

The rejection feels like a knife to the gut. Greg opens and closes his mouth soundlessly.

Ed and Sam are looking between him and Spike, alarm written all over their faces.

"What do you mean?" Ed asks, sharply, just as Sam exclaims, "How can that be?!"

"I don't know, I don't know!" Spike shouts, sounding agonized. "I know I felt it before. That first time!"

"It can't just be gone like that!"  
"Is that even possible?"  
"I don't know!"  
"Are you sure?"  
"I'm telling you—"  
"But we can feel it with him—"  
"It's not the same!"

Greg's not sure who's saying what anymore. He's replaying the day's events in his mind, wondering when it happened and how he could have missed it. "I thought it was the neutralizers," he says, quietly, in a daze. And it's enough to bring the cacophony of voices to utter silence.

They stand there for an interminable amount of time, staring at each other with varying degrees of shock, disbelief, and fear.

Then a phone rings.


	6. Chapter 6

"Surveillance footage clears Timmy's and the barista," Jules informs them, her voice ringing out loud and clear from Greg's phone on speaker in the center of the kitchen table. "And based on security footage at the SRU, there's only one possible perpetrator. Brent Edwards, Team Five."

"Edwards. The rookie." Greg repeats and receives a murmur of confirmation. Team One and Team Five had worked a couple of calls together. Everything between the two teams had gone smoothly to his knowledge. If there had been any bad blood between Spike and Edwards, they had certainly concealed it well. He looks to Spike for answers, but the omega's eyes are firmly fixed on the floor.

The long pause at the other end of the line makes Greg suspect that bad news is coming.

He's right. 

Wordy's voice comes next over the speaker: "Guys…the problem is that we don't have proof that Edwards did anything. Edwards knew his angles and blocked the camera overlooking Winnie's desk with his body. Winnie wasn't at her desk at the time. No one else saw anything. We have no prints from the cup. The drugs are untraceable. With the little evidence we have, none of which we can link definitively to Edwards, this won't make it to court. Besides that, Holleran is already getting heat from upstairs to shut down the investigation. They don't like us pointing a finger at one of our own, especially an Alpha with a clean service record. Edwards voluntarily let us search his locker, bag, and car but, as you might have guessed, we got nothing."

They're all seated at the table, leaning forward, listening intently and growing increasingly outraged. Except for Spike. The omega is perched on the windowsill, face a stoic mask and arms crossed defensively over his chest. 

Greg's eyes narrow. "Spike. You don't seem surprised to hear Edwards name. What's going on between you two?"

Spike huffs and shakes his head.

"We need to know, Spike," Ed presses, a dangerous note in his voice.

Spike meets their hard, questioning gazes then with a stubborn look of his own. "He doesn’t like omegas. Or at least, he doesn't like me being in the SRU. He made it clear on the first day we met."

"That's all?" Greg says, disbelief clear in his voice.

Spike jostles one leg nervously before admitting, "He came onto me. And I got in his face and shut him down. He's given me a few looks since then."

"Looks? What kind?" Sam prompts.

"The dirty, suggestive, asshole, knothead kind, okay?" 

"So he's been harassing you," Ed states, flatly.

"Why didn't you say something?" Greg demands, voice rising along with his anger.

"Because it's not a big deal. He just stared which hardly counts as an offense. I've dealt with this before."

"I fail to see how being silent equals 'dealing with it'," Greg counters.

While Sam simultaneously shouts, "Not a big deal?! He drugged you! He could have killed you. _We_ almost _hurt_ you. How is that _not_ a big deal!"

"You don't understand!" Spike matches decibels with Sam. "Anytime I've tried to file a complaint before, _I_ was always brought to blame. It's never the Alpha's fault. It's the omega's, okay? _You_ wouldn't know about any of that, now would you? None of my problems ever got resolved that way. You heard what Wordy said. The Commander is getting heat now that we're investigating one of our own."

Sam still looks thunderous, but he visibly deflates after Spike's diatribe.

"You could have at least told us," Ed says, angrily, though Greg can sense the hurt and self-recrimination beneath the rage. "We would have found some way to help you. I thought you trusted us."

Spike looks away, but that doesn't hide the stiffness in his jaw, the rapid blinking, the recognizable shine in his eyes.

Seeing his mates wounded like so snaps something in Greg.

He grabs his phone off the table, jams a button to end the call, and stalks out of the kitchen. Behind him, chairs scrape sharply against the floor and footsteps hurry to catch up with him. He grabs Ed's car keys off the hook in the entryway and bursts out the front door.

"Greg!" Ed calls. 

"Don't follow me," he orders without looking back.

The footsteps behind him disappear. He hears Sam say, "Shouldn't we go after him?" and Ed replying something in the negative.

It's too risky with their bonds still fragile. Greg trusts Ed to watch over them. To keep them all safe. His mates. 

His former mates.

*****

At HQ, Greg storms into the Commander's office without bothering to knock. Holleran looks startled at first, but once he realizes who the unexpected intruder is, his face settles into a familiar expression of indulgence and exasperation.

"I did say you should call, not bust into my office. What are you doing here anyway? You should be with—"

"The bond is broken, Norm," Greg talks over his commanding officer.

That effectively stops the Commander in his track. "What?" he questions, sharply.

"Sometime this morning, our bond snapped." He rubs a hand over his head. "My guess is when we were violently separated during Spike's initial episode."

He paces in front of the Commander's desk, agitated. "My team tells me we know who did this."

"Your team suspects Edwards," Holleran says. The Commander's choice of words doesn't escape Greg.

"Cut the formalities, Norm."

"We have no proof and insubstantial evidence against him, Greg."

Greg braces himself against the Commander's desk, trying to breathe through his anger.

"He's been sexually harassing my officer," he states, baldly.

If Holleran is surprised by the news, he doesn't show it. "Scarlatti's never filed an official complaint."

"I don't give a damn."

"Unless you have proof—"

Greg slams his fist on the table. "Fuck proof." He rarely resorts to cursing in front of his superior. "You know Spike wouldn’t lie about this."

Holleran looks sympathetic. "I know, Greg. But you know I can't do anything with just hearsay. If Spike wants to file a complaint, we can begin a formal investigation—"

"That's what they all say," he mutters under his breath, getting a better idea of what Spike has to deal with. Then louder, "You never cared to toe the party line before, Norm."

"I don't. But even without the brass on top of me, I don't have a case. Edwards has a spotless record. He's never shown any prejudice or hostility towards Spike, or omegas in general, on the job. Bring me proof, something to work with, and I will—"

"Fine," Greg says curtly. "You want proof?" He strides purposefully out of the room, letting the door slam resoundingly behind him.

He can hear Jules and Wordy dogging his heels, but keeping a respectful distance, as he searches the hallways for Edwards.

He finds the rookie chatting with two other officers from Team 5 in the briefing room. 

"Edwards," he calls out.

The man turns; when he realizes who's addressing him, a shadow crosses his face and he warily returns acknowledgement, "Sergeant."

Greg walks right up to his face, stands toe-to-toe with the other Alpha, pushes a little further even so that the rookie has to take a step back so as not to fall over. "Where'd you get the drug, hm?"

"I don't know what you—"

He doesn't let the man finish. "Don't play dumb, Edwards. The OHA. How did you—"

"Like I said, I don't know—"

"— get your hands on it. You know it's a controlled substance."

"I don't appreciate what you're suggesting—"

"I'm not suggesting anything. I know, Edwards. I _know_."

"I've already, _voluntarily_ , submitted to a search. I have nothing to hide."

"You poisoned one of my men."

"I don't have to take this—"

"You poisoned an officer of the law—"

"Am I under arrest? Because otherwise—"

" _Poisoned_ one of _us_ —"

"He's _not_ one of us!" Edwards snaps back. "He's a fucking omega!" He spits out the word like it's distasteful. "He shouldn't be here."

Greg jabs a finger into the man's sternum. "Constable Scarlatti has proven himself countless times on the field, saved innumerable lives, including most of our own, and deserves your fucking respect. He's a better man and officer than you ever will be. He's a fucking asset to this—"

"He's a fucking _ass_ alright, only good for a fuc—"

Edwards doesn't finish because Greg's fist slams into his jaw. As the man stumbles backwards, he hears shouting and then multiple persons are pushing between them, preventing him from laying into the bastard one more time and Edwards from retaliating. 

Edwards spits blood on the floor before straightening up and shooting Greg a glare over Wordy's shoulder.

"I'm gonna charge you with assault," Edwards seethes.

"You go ahead and try." Greg glowers down his nose at Edwards, practically daring him to do so.

"Shut it. Both of you." Greg hadn't noticed the Commander's entrance; Holleran's tone brooks no room for argument. "Wordy," he barks. "Take Sergeant Parker home." Then he looks directly at Greg: "And you— _stay_ home and don't come back here until you receive orders otherwise."

Wordy immediately does as commanded, in turns pushing and pulling Greg away from the standoff as Holleran takes Edwards in the opposite direction. Greg doesn't break eye contact with Edwards until they round a corner and the bastard is completely out of his sight.

*****

Wordy prudently doesn't bring up Greg's altercation with Edwards when they're alone in the car. And Greg would have happily continued the drive in silence if they hadn't made a right turn at the second traffic light.

They're heading in the direction of Ed's house, not his own. 

"Take me _home_ , Wordy," he orders, grimly. 

Wordy spares him a brief glance from the road. "Why? Do you need something?"

"Because I don't belong there anymore," he bites out.

Wordy looks at him, thoroughly confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says, more sharply than he intends, "that I don't belong. My bond is gone, Wordy. When you ripped me away from my mate, the bond was—" He stops, choked up suddenly, and wipes a hand over his face. He can't say it again. 

Wordy pulls the car to the curb sharply and shifts the gear to park. He stares at Greg, like he's trying to comprehend the words that just came out of Greg's mouth. "What?" he says finally. "Are you sure?"

Greg nods tightly.

Wordy looks dumbfounded and, shortly thereafter, completely stricken by guilt. "Boss," he starts, but then seems to be at a loss for words. "I'm—I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't think—I just…"

And the small piece of him that was furious at the officer, that blamed him for his current predicament, quickly withers and dies beneath his friend's sincere and desperate apologies. 

"Stop. Wordy, stop." It's difficult to say it, but he does. "You did the right thing. Spike's safety—"

"But I pushed too far," Wordy interrupts to continue berating himself. " _I_ did something. Why else didn't it happen to Ed and Sam, too?" 

Greg shakes his head. He doesn’t know. All he knows is, "It happened, and we can't change that. So…let's just forget the past okay?"

Wordy nods slowly, reluctantly. Then, after a moment of gloomy silence, he says, "You should still go back, though. Maybe it's not permanent. Maybe you just need more time."

Greg sighs. "I don't belong there."

"Is that what they told you? Or what you're telling yourself?" Wordy challenges him.

*****

Spike rushes him at the front door, Ed and Sam on his heels. The omega's eyes are red and bruised, and it hurts Greg to think he was the cause of that.

"Are you okay?" Spike demands, selfless as usual.

"I'm fine." It's an automatic reply. He can tell none of his teammates are buying it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wordy pulling Ed aside. After a short, whispered exchange, Wordy disappears.

When Ed rejoins the group, there's a disapproving frown on his face. "Wordy says you weren't planning to come back," his Team Leader accuses bluntly. And Greg is on the receiving end of two more wounded stares.

"I was only doing what I thought was right—"

"Cut the self-sacrificing bullshit, Greg. You were trying to make a decision for us, and that doesn't fly in this relationship."

"We don't have a relationship, Eddie."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that you were involved in some of the incredible sex we all had this morning," the sniper retorts. It's crude, but effective. Greg doesn't have a good reply to that, except he's sure he's blushing now. Damn Ed. Always knowing how to push his buttons.

"That doesn't matter," he rebuts weakly. "That was before we knew my bond with Spike was non-existent."

Spike is shaking his head vigorously. "That's not true. We know it exists. _I know it exists._ I don't care if the universe doesn't recognize it anymore. I don't care if other people don't approve. I don't care if you can't tie me ever. I know we belong together. And I know you do, too. One day, it will happen. It will." Spike sounds so optimistic, so convinced—always seeing the silver lining, Greg thinks fondly—that a flutter of hope stirs within him.

Spike takes his hand and says, "I need you, Greg," so sweetly and sincerely that his resistance crumbles to ashes.

With a firm tug, Greg lets the omega lead him up the stairs.

Inside the master bedroom, he only just notices that Ed and Sam have followed them in.

Following his gaze, Spike tells him, "They need to be here. They need to witness this. I'm just as much yours as theirs."

He looks at Ed and Sam, and his Alpha-mates nod their agreement. It's obvious they've discussed this beforehand.

The other Alphas settle down together on the window bench, out of the way, but just an arm's length in reach.

Greg doesn't want to admit he's getting performance anxiety. He's not sure he can live up to their expectations.

Spike doesn't seem the least bit nervous though; he strips without hesitation. Once naked, he looks over Greg's still-clothed form and quips, "This will be easier with you naked too." Then he strolls over and places a hand on Greg's belt. "Let me help you with that," he whispers, hot and sultry in Greg's ear.

It sends a shiver down Greg's spine, but he doesn't move to touch his partner. He's never been this docile during sex, but he can't shake the last few reservations about laying a claim on the omega. He doesn't realize he zoned out somehow until the two hands have somehow multiplied in a moment he doesn't remember. There's someone at his feet, hands tugging at his pants; another body pressed up behind him, arms wrapped around his waist undoing his shirt; then there's Ed standing before him, pulling him into a desperate kiss. When they break apart, he hears Ed say, "I need you, too" and Sam murmuring the same thing into his back.

It's not until then that he realizes how much he needed to hear them say it too.

Ed and Sam release him and push him until the back of his knees hit the bed and he's falling backwards onto the silky sheets. Spike climbs on top of him and molds their bodies together, and it's like they were made for each other—they are made for each other, he reminds himself—pieces slotting into all the right places.

Spike rubs against him, and Greg can already feel the wetness dripping from between the omega's thighs onto his own. He smooths a hand down the omega's back, over the curve of smooth flesh, lower and lower. Spike moans when his fingers glide over that one tender spot; he's slick, so incredibly slick. 

And something breaks within him—his inhibitions; the impulse for self-sacrifice…but also the chains tethering his Alpha instinct.

He growls, digs his fingers deep behind the omega's thighs, and flips them over to take control of this mating. He forces Spike's legs wide open with his pelvis and grapples the omega's wrists to the bed.

Splayed out on his back without any leverage, Spike turns his head and bares his neck in submission. It's a perfectly calculated move. Designed to entice his Alpha. And Greg discovers he has no immunity whatsoever.

He pushes the omega over onto his stomach and buries himself with one strong snap of his hips. He drives in over and over, folding his body over Spike, wanting both to protect and to claim. The incoherent noises that fall from Spike's mouth and the thick fog of pheromones—Spike's, his own, his two Alpha-mates—carries him higher and higher.

"Mine, mine, mine," he breathes into the back of Spike's neck, as if by saying it enough times, the words could be permanently branded in the omega's skin.

He bares his teeth, but only nips at the pale expanse of skin beneath him. Hesitates to do any further because he doesn't have the right.

As if sensing his internal battle, Spike murmurs, "Mark me. Please. Please."

"I shouldn't," he whispers, though he's desperate to.

"Please," Spike begs, and when he doesn't reply, he hears another wrenching " _Please_." 

He doesn't know how to deny his mate again. "It'll hurt," he gasps out between breaths. There won't be the usual hormones to numb most of the pain.

"I don't care."

"It might scar badly." The healing process will be slower too.

"I _don't_ care," Spike reiterates, ferociously. "Just do it. Please. I want it."

It's impossible to miss the other two claiming marks. He sets his teeth to the far right. Three in a perfect row.

The taste and feel of his mate in his mouth, the comprehension of his impending claim, pushes him to the edge. His jaw clamps down automatically, naturally, and Spike lets out a shout that echoes off the walls, the shockwaves skimming over his exposed flesh and raising goosebumps. 

Spike trembles and spasms around him, milking him for all he's worth…And even without a claiming knot, it's the hardest that Greg's ever come. White spots dance in his vision, and his hearing fades in and out beneath the sound of his racing heartbeat.

Then he feels it. Just a little spark in the depth of his chest that flickers out all too quickly. But it was there. He's sure of it.

"Did you feel that?" Spike breathes. 

Greg can hear the smile and awe in his mate's voice. He buries his face in Spike's back and lets loose a joyous laugh.


	7. Epilogue

The next morning is spent talking about more permanent accommodations, moving logistics, how to break the news to their exes and kids (Ed and Greg), and shift scheduling (the Alphas rotating days off to coincide with Spike's heat if needed. Spike reminds them that he's been taking care of himself for over a decade without their help, so would they stop the fussing already?).

In the afternoon, Greg gets a call from Commander Holleran. He disappears behind closed doors, and when he emerges with a furrow between his brows and a clenched jaw, it's to tell them of Edwards' "voluntary" transfer from the SRU and the changes being made to the SRU recruitment psych eval. 

It's probably the best that Spike could have hoped for. But it's obvious his Alphas are far from appeased.

"It's not right," Sam says, tone bitter.

Ed just stares at Greg, tight-lipped, wordlessly communicating his displeasure.

Spike, always one to prefer focusing on the upside of things, says, "Hey." 

Once he has all of his mates' attention, he lets his love and appreciation—for the three men infuriated on his behalf, who've watched his back from day one, who've treated him with respect every day and now give him their love every day—tug up the corners of his lips. 

"Because of this, we found each other. Sooner better than later. Edwards is gone and we're still together."

He gazes affectionately at each of his Alphas in turn: "I don't regret any of that one bit."

**The End...Maybe.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a journey. I did not expect a PWP bunny to grow extra legs and run a maze in my brain, taking me places I did not expect. My inner critic is far from satisfied, but I've given so much time and energy already, I'm gonna let this baby fly. I hope you enjoyed it. I'd appreciate knowing if you do (but I'll also kindly receive constructive crit; I'm just happy to discuss the show with you!). And look out for time stamps to fill in the gaps.
> 
> Many thanks to brokenhazeleyes for the conversation that spurred me to turn my bunny into actual fic and for being the best damn cheerleader throughout.


	8. Timestamp #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone wants revenge.  
> [WARNINGS: Attempted non-con, violence, language]

The two men crouched behind the shrubbery listen as the pair of older men say goodbye to their mates, jog down the front steps, load into the car and drive away.

Once the hum of the engine has faded into the distance, they turn and creep along the wall toward the open kitchen window. From it, they can hear the clinking of glass and metal, and then:

" _Sam_...you're gonna make me drop these plates."

"Mm....I thought you had steady hands."

"Not when you're--ung--doing that."

"What, this?"

A sharp hiss.

There's a clatter and rattle.

"Fuck, okay, fuck, upstairs now."

A bark of laughter, some thumps, then silence.

After a few seconds, the smaller of the two men jerks his head. A command. His partner rises from his crouch to peek above the windowsill. A nod confirms that the room is now vacant. The screen cover snaps off with just a little force, and the window slides up with barely a whisper. It takes a little more skill and coordination to make it quietly through the opening, across the sink, past the stack of dirty dishes to land feet-first on the tiled floor. They make it through with ease.

Once inside, they don black balaclavas and bring their previously concealed guns up to aim. They pause near the doorway, listening intently. Silence. A visual check confirms that the adjoining rooms are empty. In the hallway, the smaller man motions with a hand towards the staircase with a quick flick of his wrist. His partner takes point and they begin their ascent.

Near the landing, they can hear signs of life now, muffled grunts and groans. The door to the master bedroom is ajar.

A glimpse inside reveals the two targets fully engaged on the bed, effectively preoccupied and with their backs turned to the door.

With a quick nod, the taller man nudges the door open further, and the smaller man stalks forward. He swiftly crosses the room to the bed, gun drawn.

The blonde man immediately stills when the muzzle presses up against the back of his skull. "Don't move or blondie gets a bullet to the brain."

The blonde's mate, lying face-down on the bed, tenses up but does as he's told.

His partner hurries in and takes up position near the head of the bed, so their targets can see the second gun trained on them.

"What do you want?" The blonde asks, voice impressively calm and steady for a man literally caught with his pants down and his dick up some sweet ass. But then again, the man was SRU and former special ops according to the files they had received.

"Not you," he answers and whips the back of Sam Braddock's head with the butt of his gun. 

Braddock crumples sideways. There's a cry of "Sam!" from his mate--Michelangelo Scarlatti, also SRU. And the black sheep omega doing an Alpha's job.

When Scarlatti's arms jerk up as if to push up and turn around, he hastily clambers on top and shoves the omega back down. "What did I say about not moving?" He digs the tip of his gun between the man's shoulder blades. "We could still off blondie there" His partner leaves his position. There's a loud thump then the sound of zip ties a moment later. "As it is, he's just sleeping right now. But that can change at any moment. You got me?"

A slow head shake in response. Then Scarlatti repeats his lover's question, "What do you want?"

He doesn't reply. Scarlatti will know soon enough. With their subjects subdued now, he finally allows himself to appreciate the sweet smell suffusing the air, originating from the man beneath him. The scent is a little subdued beneath the black wool covering his face, but still excites his Alpha. He bends forward until his lips are touching fragile, sweet skin. Inhales deeply and sighs.

A hitch of breath betrays the omega's cognizance, and he takes pleasure in having elicited a reaction.

He drags his nose across the omega's nape, scenting along the way. Scarlatti is fresh in his heat. Exactly as they had planned. Perfect for what they have planned.

Drawing his mouth up to the man's ear, he quietly murmurs, "You asked what we want. This is a message from upstairs. A reminder of who you are, where you belong." He grinds the evidence of his erection into the omega's back. "And you won't forget your place after we're done with you."

*****

Ed hangs up the phone. There's a line between his brows.

Greg gives him a questioning look from the driver's seat.

"That was Bea." 

Greg nods. Bea is their elderly neighbor who lives with her unmated daughter next door. When they had moved in a month ago, she had shown up on their doorstep with a bright smile and a welcome basket of baked goods. Once she learned they were all mates, she had looked astonished at first. But then she had laughed, congratulated them, and then confessed to having hoped to find a match for her daughter among the "fine, young officers." They had built a good neighborly relationship since then, baked goods gifted in exchange for help with minor home repairs. And in this case:

"She said our kitchen window is open and the screen is gone. She thought we were all at work so she called to check..."

"Give Sam a call?" Greg suggests, but Ed's finger is already on Sam's speed-dial number.

A few seconds later, he brings the phone back down from his ear. "Voicemail." He tries Spike's number next with the same result.

Greg takes in Ed's frown. "Something not sitting right?"

Ed shakes his head.

Without discussion, Greg makes a U-turn at the next light.

*****

They park across the street from their house to observe first. There's no movement that they can see, and the neighborhood is quiet and peaceful as usual.

As a precautionary measure, they retrieve their guns from the safe in the trunk before jogging across the street. 

Outside of their house, they inspect the kitchen window. As told, it's wide open and the screen is on the ground, leaning too perfectly against the wall to be accidental. But if that isn't enough to raise alarms, the boot tracks in the dirt and on the windowsill do.

They make haste to the front door. Greg quickly fishes out his keys, and Ed makes first entry once the door is unlocked. They clear the first floor in seconds, a well-rehearsed routine compounded with urgency.

Halfway up the staircase, they freeze when they hear a male voice speak. The pitch is too low to distinguish any words or determine if it belongs to either Sam or Spike. They resume climbing and at the top, a male voice speaks again. This time, they definitely know it's neither of their mates. 

Ed points at the master bedroom and Greg nods. He sidles along the wall, Greg on his heels, and approaches the open door cautiously.

Without their tactical mirror, there's no way to get a good view of the room. Ed peeks in as far as he dares and makes out blonde hair—Sam—on the floor and one subject standing guard over him, a gun in his grip. He can't see Spike, but he knows his other mate is in there; the scent of his heat is overpowering. Sam's scent is a faint undercurrent; Besides that, he can't smell anything else which tells him the suspects are using scent blockers; leaving him without a clue about the number of subjects inside.

A voice speaks again, not the guard he can see. His blood boils at the lewd words he can now hear.

With conscious effort, he bridles his rage and signals to Greg: two subjects, minimum. Then counts down using his fingers.

He's not letting his mates be subjected to this any longer.

Three.

Two.

One.

He pushes the door wide open and yells "Police! Put your weapon down."

The guard jumps but moves to raise his gun and Ed fires. The guard slumps. There's movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns as the second subject swivels and brings his arm up, gun in hand. Two shots ring out, and the subject jerks and falls forward onto the bed. 

Greg's gun smokes in his hand.

Ed moves inside, quickly checking behind the door and keeping an eye on the downed subjects, while Greg heads toward the bathroom. There's a flood of relief when he hears his mate call, "Clear," though his muscles remain taut with wary vigilance. When Greg reappears and goes to Sam's side, cell phone already to his ear, Ed dashes to Spike's. 

He checks the subject on the bed first, pushing the firearm out of reach and feeling for a pulse, vicious satisfaction shooting through him when he finds none. Finally, he turns his attention to Spike. His mate is half-trapped beneath the subject, and Ed feels a flare of panic because he hasn't seen Spike move during the confrontation.

But then he hears a wheeze, and the omega's chest begins to shake. His professional armor crumbles as the magnitude of the situation sets in.

"Spike," he utters, before crudely yanking the dead body off his mate and dumping it on the floor.

There's blood spatter on the omega's back, but no wounds that he can see.

" _Spike_ ," he cries louder, crawling on the bed towards his mate's side. And this time, Spike unburies his face from the mattress and turns his head. The brown eyes are wet and clouded with a mix of anger and shame, but they soften after settling on Ed's face. 

Ed feels a mounting pressure behind his eyes, but he controls it, contains it like he always does. He has to be strong for his mate. For all his mates.

Unsure if or where he should touch, he slowly reaches forward and lays a hand gently on Spike's nape. Spike shudders at the contact and then, with surprising speed, scrambles up and throws his arms around Ed. A wet nose smashes against his collarbone as fingertips claw into his back. He pulls Spike to his chest with the same ferocity. They stay that way, locked together in a desperate embrace, until both of their adrenaline-fueled tremors subside. Then a small voice asks, "Is Sam okay?"

Ed looks at Greg, who's cradling the younger Alpha in his lap. Sam's eyes are open and there's a relieved smile on the older man's face. 

"Yeah." He clutches his mate closer as the sound of sirens close in. "Yeah, he's gonna be just fine."

*****

Greg slaps three folders onto the briefing room table.

"Aaron Smith and Oliver Bradstone. Dishonorably discharged from the CAF in the past year for bad conduct and accusations, but no convictions, of sexual assault. Thanks to General Braddock,"—he nods acknowledgement to Sam—"we learned they had been recently stationed overseas at a classified base commanded by a Colonel Bruce Edwards, father to Constable Brent Edwards. While Edwards is a gifted battlefield strategist, his skill with technology doesn't compare to our own tech wizard, Mr. Michelangelo Scarlatti." He smiles broadly at his omega mate before meeting the predatory gazes from the rest of his team. 

"We got the dirt and the warrant to nail this guy, so let's go do it."

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to add something with more gravity to this universe.
> 
> Anyways, I owe thanks to my husband for supporting my meager fanfic writing endeavors and getting me to sit my butt down and finish telling this tale...although he had no clue what I was writing about :)


End file.
